Castiel and Crowley SE1 Episode 2 - TNM: Apocalypse of the Week
by WatchingOne
Summary: A spin-off from Supernatural featuring the team of Castiel and Crowley. Following the events down south, the duo head north to Baltimore to check out a possible Croatoan outbreak. And possibly some better hotel accommodations... For Episode One, please check out: /s/10892640/1/Castiel-and-Crowley-The-Next-Missions
1. Right Place, Wrong Time

**Right Place, Wrong Time**

Lucas practically stumbled his way out of the bar room door. The fresh air and light rain did nothing to relieve the spinning ground and the more than slight queasiness that ten beers and half a bottle of Jaeger had brought on. He squinted in the dim neon light from the bar's sign and with a hand brushed back his damp bangs. _Now, where in the hell did I park the frikkin' car?_, he thought, one hand trying but not succeeding in reaching into his pocket for his keys. After several tries and a short rest against a street lamp, he had them. He smiled lazily and walked forward, immediately stumbled, and the keys flew out of his hand and skidded across the parking lot. _Goddammit_...

He looked around the empty lot and saw them glinting underneath an SUV parked against a fence near the rear of the lot. He started off unsteadily in that direction and stopped a few paces from the car when he thought he heard a groan coming from the bushes on the other side of the fence. ..._the hell?_, he frowned.

Lucas tried to be a good samaritan whenever he could, and tonight he was feeling particularly good due to the night's revelries. He had just got promoted to head of development for the new packaging line for his company. He had been fighting and clawing for a chance like this for years. Maybe, if things worked out, he could move things to the next level with Maria as well. He knew that she had been waiting patiently for the last year or so for him to pop the question. It was starting to look more and more like a reality now. He shook away his wandering thoughts and moved towards the fence, ignoring his keys. The rain had picked up and was running into his eyes. He ran a hand over his brow and flicked the water away. He saw that part of the fence had apparently been taken down rather haphazardly. Typical, though, it wasn't the nicest neighborhood in the world. He looked into the darkness and saw some broken posts and disturbed twigs. There was also something liquidy running into the small rain pools that had begun to form in the mud. Something kind of...red. He stared at it, not being able to figure out what it was when he heard the groan again coming from a bit deeper in the wooded area beyond the fence.

"Hello?", he called out hesitantly. The night went suddenly still. The rain was the only sound. Lucas figured his voice must have spooked the crickets , because they had stopped chirping.

There was a crack of a twig as something started moving in the woods. Lucas could make out a dark form moving slowly out from behind the trees towards him.

"Hey man, you OK?", he called out again, watching the slightly swaying figure take hesitant steps towards him. The person was moving awfully slowly and gently rocking from side to side, like they couldn't find their balance. There was another pained groan.

Lucas grinned. Some booze-hound had got it in his head to walk out of the bar and take a piss or something, he thought. Then ended up not finding his way back. Completely wasted.

"C'mon man, it's this way, lemme give ya a hand," he said, stepping over some of the debris from the broken fence and moving into the trees. The guy in the woods didn't reply, he just kept coming forward. Lucas held out his hand and glanced idly down at the pool of water he had been looking at before.

His eyes widened as he saw the intense red color of the pool up close. His eyes followed the line of the stream back into the hedges and, leaned up against some more posts, saw a crumbled body propped up on some branches and roots. His head was half-gone, the skull split wide open. Lucas felt a rush of horror and adrenaline as he saw the huge hole where the guy's brains should have been.

He looked quickly back up at the approaching form. His mind instantly recognized what he was looking at, but there was a serious disconnect with reality. In shock, he took in a big gulp of air. The man had one arm raised lazily into the air in front of him, reaching towards Lucas. His eyes were practically white and rolled back in his head, and his mouth hung open at a weird angle. His clothes and mouth were splattered with blood, and, Lucas realized with increasing horror, from his mouth hung bits of flesh and hair. _Zombie_, his mind stated and reeled, recognizing the rather stereotypical image in an instant from a million horror films he had seen. But this shit wasn't real...this shit only existed in movies and tv..._zombie_..._ZOMBIE_?

He made a quick decision, his mind working frantically now, the panic driving out the last of any buzz he had been feeling from his system. He turned and bolted into the parking lot, and had run about twenty yards before something clicked in his head and he skidded to a halt. He braced one arm on the ground and spun, racing back in the other direction. His keys. They were still under the other car. He scanned the area around the broken fence and realized with relief that the creature was not even close to it yet, it was still a good ten feet back and moving slowly. _Well, at least the sonuvabitch is slow_, he relaxed, jogging up to the SUV and kneeling down, grabbing at his keys. He figured he could get back to his car, and drive like hell down to the local police station, and then...he frowned. _Yeah, that won't work,_he considered. He was drunk as a skunk, and driving up to the cops and telling them about a zombie in the woods wasn't the wisest life choice he could think of at the moment.

His hands closed around the keys and he straightened up, peering around the back of the SUV at the fence, and saw the creature trying to get through the messed up fence. _It's so damned slow_, he thought again, then looked back at Mike's Bar, a plan forming in his head. He could run back to the bar, and get some of the heavy hitters in there to come out here with him. Then he'd have witnesses. And backup. He'd have to come up with a good cover story, though, something to get them to come outside with him. And he wasn't too crazy about taking his eyes off of that thing. He needed to act fast.

He grabbed a couple of rocks and hurled them into the windows of a few cars around the lot. The windows shattered and more than a few alarms started to go off. He smiled and looked back at the bar. After a few seconds passed, he frowned. No one was coming out. Shit. It was late, sure, but the place still had about ten people in it when he had just come out a few minutes ago. Someone had to have heard that racket. He started slowly walking back to the entrance, periodically looking over his shoulder to mark where the zombie was. It had made it into the parking lot, and was shambling towards him still. Slower than hell.

He burst through the door and began to shout.

"Hey, can't you guys hear that? There's a couple of punks outside bashing the hell out of all of your cars...hey! Guys! Fellas?"

He looked around in puzzlement. A few heads had turned towards him, sure, but they went back to their beers and drinks and payed him no further attention. There was a crack from the pool table in the corner as one of the guys cued up and broke.

Lucas stared...was everyone deaf? "I said," he started again, voice rising, "I need help out there?! Isn't anybody interested in their cars getting trashed?! What the hell?!"

"Did they touch the Ferrari?", asked one of the men from the pool table. Lucas looked over, jaw slack. The guy that asked was in a business suit, leaning over the pool table with his stick in hand, lining up his next shot. He had raised his eyes to Lucas and was patiently waiting for a reply, brow furrowed.

"I didn't even see any goddamned Ferrari," he half stammered. "No, no, they didn't touch the Ferrari, OK? But what about the other cars? Doesn't anyone care? Isn't anyone going to help?"

The man at the pool table let out a huff and took his shot, banking a nine ball perfectly into a side pocket. "We are helping. We're staying put. You should too." He straightened up and clapped the back of his hand against his playing partner, a sandy-brown haired man, wearing a business suit as well. He had on an unfastened blue tie and a tan trenchcoat. He was awkwardly holding the pool cue as if he couldn't figure out what to do with it. Lucas' head was beginning to spin.

"See there, Castiel? Now that's a great example as to what I was talking about. I am an absolutely peerless salesman because I can _read people_. And you were all worried that...that..." The man turned his gaze back to Lucas, a questioning look appearing on his face. "What did you say your name was again, son?"

"Lucas...", Lucas answered cautiously, not following what was going on at all.

"Lucas," the man repeated slowly before turning back to the guy in the trenchcoat he had called Castiel. "You were worried that _Lucas _here was going to get eaten. I told you that he would have enough sense to run straight back in here once he saw the horror show outside. _That _is reading people. _That _is what I'm trying so _desperately _to teach you, " the man finished, rolling his eyes and lining up for another shot.

Lucas took an unsteady step backwards. "Horror show...? ", he softly replied. "How do you...wait...you know about what's going on outside?"

The businessman's stick screeched off the ball as he mis-cued, his shot missing wide. He hung his head dramatically, straightened up and indicated the open table to his partner before walking around the table towards Lucas.

"Of course I do. We all do, " he said, waving his cue around at the entire bar. Lucas followed the motion and realized that everyone in there was watching him intensely. The Twilight Zone feeling of unreality got suddenly deeper. He felt the blood draining out of his face.

"We were waiting for those beasties to come breaking in here, as they are so wont to do around noise, music and drunk humans. This was all a trap, so-to-say. You just happened to pick _this _place to drown your sorrows tonight. Bad luck for you, then." The man shrugged. "Or good luck, if you will. You're safe as houses now, with us watching your back."

Lucas leaned back heavily against the wall. He regarded the businessman for a few seconds. The guy looked back, a friendly expression on his bearded face.

"But that thing out there is a...a...," Lucas muttered.

" A zombie, yes, we know," the man finished for him. "Well, technically speaking, zom_bies_, plural. If you hadn't happened to notice, they have this place surrounded. They had been closing in on you in the parking lot as well. They love to do that. Sneak up from behind on people. It's singularly annoying. You would have never made it to your car, you know, " the man finished, raising his eyebrows. "But, I knew that you'd make the right call. That's what I do. I read people." He smiled triumphantly.

"What...who...who are you?", Lucas managed.

The man shoved his hands in his pocket and strode forward. "Name's Crowley. And just to save time, I'm the King of Hell...well, exiled King of Hell...long story. My partner there is an angel named Castiel. He's banned from Heaven right now, and helping me. These guys," he said, waving around the room, "are all soldier demons in my employ. You are Lucas, " he said, holding out his hand towards him palm up, "and outside there are about fifty zombies behind that rather flimsy door you're leaning close to at this very moment. So, if you don't mind, please do step away from there before we end up re-enacting a blasé horror film moment where they break through and drag you away screaming. That would be messy, and _he _will get very upset," Crowley finished indicating Castiel over his shoulder with his thumb. Lucas hastily stepped back into the middle of the room just as he began to hear scratching and scraping sounds outside.

Crowley had just turned back to the pool table to watch as Castiel made his last shot and sunk the eight-ball, grinning and straightening up to watch Crowley. Crowley's eyes bugged out in surprise.

"Where in the bloody hell did you...Castiel, were you _hustling me_?", he asked, very perturbed.

The Angel looked suddenly very uncomfortable. He carefully and slowly placed the pool cue back on the table and looked up apologetically.

"Um, well, yeah...Dean taught me...," Castiel answered. "Does that mean you want to fight me now? He warned me that that is usually what happens afterwards..."

Crowley rolled his eyes and turned away from the table, fuming. "Winchesters," he grumbled. "It's always the Winchesters. I mean, why do they always seem to be making my life miserable? What makes them so bloody special? I mean, look at us, Castiel, we're much better at this 'saving people' thing than they are. Take Lucas here as exhibit A," he continued, pointing at him."We managed to save him, right? He should've been a goner. He was completely drunk, out alone in the rain with a parking lot _full _of zombies and with no _clue _as to what was about to happen to him next. The Winchesters are always investigating the mangled corpses of people like Lucas _after _the fact. We're _much _more proactive."

The scratching at the door had turned into banging. There was a loud cacophony of moans and cries from outside. The wooden boards of the entrance started to creak and splinter. Lucas moved further into the bar, staring wildly around. The other 'patrons' had stood up and were pulling out knives and guns from their jackets and pockets. Crowley and Castiel had moved out from the corner near the pool table and were watching the door alertly.

Lucas moved next to them, grabbing a pool cue like a staff and holding it out protectively in front of him. He looked to his right at Crowley. "Um, not for nothing, Mr. Crowley, but there was a guy out in the woods with his head already split open and his brains eaten. So, you kinda didn't save him now, did you?"

Crowley closed his eyes slowly. "We missed one? How in all the hells did we miss one?" he whispered. "Super. OK. Fine. We may actually need a bit more practice at this. Sorry. All hail the bloody Winchesters." He shook his head and opened his eyes back up. "But we will still save _your _ass, Lucas, my dear, just stand back and watch us work."

At that instant the door splintered open and a wave of undead monsters started shambling into the room. Shots rang out from everywhere and smoke filled the air. The zombies dropped one by one but there seemed to be no end to them. They were piling up at the door, and several of them were breaking in through windows and crawling over the bodies, moving ever forward. Castiel moved forward in a flash of motion, a silver blade dancing in and out of the melee, leaving a wake of destroyed zombies in his path. The Demons had stopped shooting and were engaging the zombies hand-to-hand. Lucas looked over to Crowley who had his arms crossed like a football coach, watching the action unfold like it were a carefully orchestrated game plan. When a zombie stumbled out of the scrum close to them, Crowley quickly raised his hand. Lucas saw a red flash of light from Crowley's eyes and the undead monster dropped like a stone immediately to the floor. Lucas caught a whiff of sulfur. Crowley looked over at him and gave a dismissive shrug.

"They're just zombies. And like I said. I'm the King of Hell."


	2. On to the Next Apocalypse

**On to the Next Apocalypse **

In a few minutes, the 'fight' was over. The zombies lay strewn all over the bar and the victors moved through them, checking to make sure they were truly finished. One of the demons moved over to Crowley, then looked over his shoulder at Castiel. He and Lucas were standing at the other end of the room. Castiel was vigorously shaking debris off of his trenchcoat.

"We managed to save one sir, as you requested, " he whispered covertly.

Crowley smiled tightly and clapped him on the shoulder. "No need for subterfuge, my good man. Castiel is well aware that we need to study these things to determine if this is a Croatoan outbreak or not." He frowned and kicked at one of the bodies. "Although, by their behavior and appearance, I would highly doubt it. These beasties appear to be our garden variety zombie sort. Not necessarily that dangerous, unless they attack en masse. Which is what they have appeared to there is some kind of an epidemic...well...yeah, that makes things more complicated." Crowley nudged the body again with his shoe and sighed.

"Allright, random minion number twelve, I will need you to get Lucas over there into a cab and back to his house after Castiel gets through...well...de-briefing him." He looked over to Castiel just as the angel placed two fingers on Lucas' forehead and caught him gently as he slumped down, unconscious. "He's going to wake up with one hell of a hangover, and some vague but vivid nightmarish-like memories of a zombie attack. He's going to figure out in time that in all likelihood it was all in his head, and in the future he should avoid binge drinking as a mode of celebration. Or at least let's hope so." He clapped the demon on the shoulder and smiled, stepping over the zombie towards the door.

"Will do sir. And sir?", the demon replied. Crowley turned.

"Yes?"

"It's random minion number _ten _, sir. Just to clear things up," The demon grinned, turned and walked away towards Castiel and Lucas. Crowley raised his eyebrows and shook his head. He watched the demon get some help carrying Lucas through the door. Castiel walked over to Crowley, putting his trenchcoat back on. He studied the annoyed look on Crowley's face for a few seconds.

"Is everything allright?", Castiel asked.

"Why does every single demon have to be so snarky all of the time?", Crowley answered in a half growl. "Can't they just take their orders and move on?" He looked up at Castiel. "I mean, I'm the one in charge, it's my _job _to be snarky." He sighed heavily, opening the door and striding purposefully into the parking lot. "You coming?", he shot back over his shoulder when he noticed that Castiel was just standing there. "Oh, no, no, stop that, I've told you, I can't stand the staring thing, Castiel, just...stop. Everything's fine."

Castiel cocked his head and looked once behind him. "Crowley, what exactly are we dealing with here? This doesn't look like the Croatoan virus as we thought."

Crowley shrugged, walking towards a red Ferrari parked in a handicapped spot next to the bar. He opened the door and got in, swinging the passenger door open for Castiel. "I honestly don't know. Yet. But a zombie epidemic is definitely not a good sign. These things spawn very rapidly, if that is, in fact, what we're dealing with. We need to find out what is causing this and shut it down. And quickly," he added for emphasis. "Very, very quickly."

Castiel stared out of the window for a few minutes as they drove off back to the hotel. "Crowley, this could be an apocalyptic level event, if this really is a zombie outbreak."

Crowley winced. "Thank you, Mr. Obvious. Please, tell me something I don't know."

Castiel turned his head towards him. "I just find it very disturbing, and more than a little coincidental, that ever since our mutual expulsions we have discovered two possibly world-ending threats in the space of one week. It seems like more than random happenstance."

Crowley let out a breath of air. "Yeah, well, now that you mention it, that is a bit odd, isn't it? It's almost like someone is playing all of their favorite hits, taking advantage of our absence, so to say. Can you think of anyone or anything that might be doing that?"

Castiel frowned, turning his head to stare out of the window again. "Unfortunately, I think that list is very long."

Crowley let out a half-laugh. "Well, you're not wrong there, choir-boy," He mused for moment. "Maybe the question we should be asking is: who has the actual power to be pulling off an apocalypse per week?"

Castiel rubbed his chin. "That narrows it down, actually. Metatron? Your mother, Rowena? They're unaccounted for. And highly unstable. Michael was detroyed... Lucifer? Contained."

"You're really going to have to tell me the story of how Michael went down sometime, Castiel," Crowley smirked. "But let's also not forget about the hundred or so pissed off major-deities that might see your daddies' prolonged absence as an opportunity to reclaim the mortal coil. With no one there to direct Heaven and Hell, the whole party is up for grabs."

Castiel turned back. "There's only so much we can stop from here, Crowley. On Earth, our resources are severely limited. We need to get to the bottom of this, and put an end to it. Has your team found out anything yet about the rise of the Old Ones?"

"Not a peep. But maybe if we find out what's going on here, we can make a connection. Someone's bound to leave a fingerprint on these messes sooner or later."

Castiel frowned. "Well, they better. We can't afford a disaster like New Orleans again."

Crowley gave Castiel a tight smile. "Obviously not. We'll run out of cities eventually."

They pulled into Baltimore's city limits and drove to a towering five star hotel named the Baltimore Monaco. Porters took Crowley's bags as Castiel firmly, but gently, kept them from taking his coat. They were led up to the penthouse where Crowley kicked off his shoes and reached for the TV remote and his cellphone.

"Ahhhhh," he exhaled, propping his feet up on a lush teak-wood table. "Now this beats the boondocks by a million miles."

Castiel looked around, taking in the vast space and shrugged. "It's serviceable as a base of operations. We need to get started. I'll talk to Garth and get all of the data assembled on mass zombie attacks in the Northeast over the past week. Maybe we can pinpoint a source."

Crowley nodded. "You do that, I'll check in back at the home office and dig up what I can. Pity Heaven isn't as well wired as we are. We could use a bird's eye view of the town, if you get my drift."

Castiel bristled and started walking into another room. "Oh, don't take it like that!", Crowley called after him. "I promise, that wasn't another joke about Heaven's library! Or angel wings!" He shrugged when Castiel was gone and dialed his home office. Justin, his number one secretary at the moment, picked up.

"Hello Justin, I will need all information on mass zombie epidemics and possibly related hospital reports wired to me post-haste. Also, go ahead and dig up any spells that could be causing this. I swear to all that is unholy, if that bitch is the one behind all of this...no, Justin, ignore that last rant. Just get me the data. Promptly." He hung up and leaned back on the plush sofa. He wished Castiel hadn't mentioned his mother. That was one thought that he had been working very hard to push out of his head for a long time. She had promised him that everything that he had would burn. And since then, he had lost his throne due to the revolt she had so conventionally predicted, and watched disaster after disaster take place. The theory fit. He just hoped to hell it wasn't true.

Castiel returned after a few minutes. "Nothing from the Hunters, but they're alerted. They said they might send some back up to us, if they can spare the resources. They appear to be stretched pretty thin as well."

Crowley leaned forward. "So it's not just us, eh? Beasties popping up all over?"

Castiel nodded. "Apparently so. And nothing minor, either. We're not talking about ruogaroos or werewolves. We're talking about literal armies of vampires attacking small towns and gangs of rogue demons setting up their own little corners of Hell." He shook his head. "It's like open-season out there."

Crowley nodded. "Let's just be sure not to be the main course at the following banquet, then, OK?"


	3. Outbreak

**Outbreak**

The report from Justin came back a few hours later. Crowley scrolled through the data on his phone and scratched his head. _Well, at least we have a place to start,_he thought, raising his eyebrows. Castiel came out of the kitchen eating a sandwich. He held it out to Crowley and gestured with his thumb back into the pantry, silently asking him if he wanted one too.

"No, please, but, no," Crowley replied, holding up his hands. "If that Winchester boy taught you how to cook as well, I'll never be able to stomach that." Castiel shrugged and squinted a bit in question, mouth full and chewing.

Crowley stood up and grabbed his jacket. "C'mon Castiel, we've got a 'lead', as they say. Apparently, the cities' general hospital has been keeping a wing quarantined for the last week and a half. There have also been sightings of CDC personnel going in and out, but filing no official reports. _Unofficially_, people are saying that the doctors entering the quarantine area are all white as a sheet and shaking with fear when they leave. Every last one of them. The tabloids have already picked up on it, but the serious newspapers are cautiously holding back until something concrete shows up. But the questions are already starting, Castiel, and if word of what's really going on out there gets out..."

"Mshh pnkkkt," Castiel replied, still chewing.

Crowley grimaced in disgust. "And they say demons are unclean. Really, Castiel, you would think Heaven would have taught angels some basic table manners."

Castiel wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and swallowed. "We're soldiers, mostly, Crowley. Sometimes the need for haste outweighs sitting down for a nice family meal together."

Crowley pinched his eyes with his fingers and exhaled. "Fine. I'll just have to add it to the list of habits I need to break you of if we're to be seen in public together. As it seems we are doomed to be." He opened his eyes. "Are you through eating now? Good. Now, what was it you were attempting to say?"

Not missing a beat, Castiel answered. "I was just observing that there most likely would be mass panic."

Crowley nodded. "Exactly. The tin-hat types and survivalist nuts would be the first to snap...if they aren't snapped already. The government would naturally be aware of the danger of a mass panic as well, and would do it's best to quash any news leaks. That could _also_be a reason the big news agencies are ignoring the story as of now. Of course, it's all ludicrously short-sighted, because if the epidemic actually starts..."

"It will be too late for anyone," Castiel finished, his gaze turning serious. "So, what's the plan, then?"

"Well, it would appear that the only way into that area to see what is going on is to be a CDC doctor or a government official. Luckily for us, we are a pair, so we can be both."

An hour later, Castiel and Crowley were walking into the reception area of the Maryland General Hospital. The modern glass doors and glass awning had kept them mostly dry from the rain, which was falling in buckets now.

"I don't see why I can't be the government agent," Castiel murmured out of the side of his mouth to Crowley. He glanced over briefly at Crowley who was dressed in a charcoal-black suit with dark sunglasses and sighed. "It's because of the time I tried to pretend to be an FBI Agent, isn't it? You do realize that that was a long time ago, right?"

Crowley grinned tightly and kept walking. "You get nervous around people, Castiel. Agents don't. It's really as simple as that."

Castiel frowned. "But how I am supposed to be a doctor?", he asked, holding up the corner of his white jacket. "My knowledge of human medicine is extremely limited."

Crowley stopped and lowered his sunglasses with his finger a bit, regarding Castiel. " You can improvise, can't you Castiel? Try not to talk too much, and act like you belong here. If they ask you to actually help with someone, act like you know what you're doing, and then make sure no-one sees you do that instant healing touch thing of yours when you do it."

Castiel grimaced. "I don't know if my power can heal a zombie. It will probably just destroy them."

Crowley grinned, pushing his sunglasses back on. "Well, you aren't worse than any doctor here, then."

Crowley strode up to the reception desk and dropped his CIA credentials onto the counter in front of the rather bored looking staff member. The girl with the name tag "Dana", looked it over briefly, flipped it onto it's back and handed it over. She then looked at Castiel, who stared back.

"Um, sorry, Doctor...?", Dana started, holding out her hand. Castiel continued staring. Crowley clapped him roughly on the shoulder.

"Sorry, love, jet-lag.", he said, deftly taking Castiel's badge and handing it to her.

Dana looked it over and sighed before handing it back. "Ok then, Agent Teufel and Doctor Dempsey. Sub-basement one, third corridor. Here's your pass for the elevator." She reached into her desk, unlocked a case, and handed them a magnetic key card. "You'll need to show your ID's again at the guard post, if that's not too much of a problem, " she smiled at Castiel meaningfully.

"I'm sure he can handle it, love. Ta-ta," Crowley replied with a smile, guiding Castiel towards the elevators.

"See, Castiel, exactly what I'm talking about. You freeze around people. Why is that? You never seem to do it around other angels. Or hunters. Or demons for that matter." He scratched at his beard. "Maybe if you pretend that they are just one of the gang, it will stop."

Castiel looked at Crowley and shrugged. "I've tried that. It isn't easy for angels to interact with humans, you know. This corporeal form is still extremely new to me. Most of my existence, I've just existed as..."

"Yes, yes. Some kind of radio wave. We _all_know that, Castiel. Well. Just try to tune it into something more social, will you? Anything's better than the public radio broadcasting that we get from you currently."

Castiel irritably scanned his card on the security plate and pressed the button for the sub-basement.

The doors opened onto a hallway with a desk placed in the middle of it and two armed guards standing to either side of it. The were wearing respirator masks. There was a mousy looking man wearing an infection mask seated behind the desk doing Sudokus. When the doors opened, he put his pen and book aside, looked up briefly at Castiel and Crowley, and pointed up behind them to their right.

Crowley turned and saw that there were two rows of masks there, one for full respirators and one for paper infection masks like the guard was wearing. He chose one of the the latter for both himself and Castiel and fastened it over his mouth and nose.

As they approached the desk, the man squinted at their badges and his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Sorry Agent, Doctor, but there were no scheduled visits to the ward today."

Crowley reached out and tapped his finger on the chart placed on the desk. There was an imperceptible flash of red from his fingers.

"Check again, son."

The man looked down at the tablet in puzzlement, his eyebrows rising in surprise as he read the day's entries.

"Well I'll be...I could've sworn...hm. Well, isn't that the damnedest thing. I thought that I had checked that like three times today."

Crowley looked over at Castiel and raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"It happens, my good man," Crowley replied. "Long shifts underground and all. Look, we'd like to be on our way soon, if it isn't too much trouble."

"Oh, no, no. No trouble at all. Um...Agent...Teufel, is it? Hm. Did you know that in German, 'Teufel' means..."

"Yes, I'm aware of it, " Crowley returned, irritably. "Got crap for it growing up near the Synagogue and all. Now, may we?"

The man stood up and grabbed a key off of a rack behind him. "No, no problem, let's go." He hurried off down the corridor, and Castiel and Crowley followed.

"Of all the security guards in the world, we get one that actually studied German..." Crowley grumbled under his breath. "And I was so enjoying that little joke."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "At least you didn't make a joke out of my name as well. That would have looked suspicious."

Crowley half choked back a laugh. "Yes. Well. No. No, I wouldn't have been that irresponsible, no."

Castiel regarded him and then continued to the end of the hall. The guard was waiting there with his key in the door. He also pressed a series of numbers into a keypad until a green light came on.

"Have you been briefed about the...er...situation, sir?", the guard asked Crowley.

"Not actually. But believe me, sunshine, if they've called us in on it, it's serious. And it's nothing we haven't seen before."

"Not the first time I've heard that..." the guard muttered disbelievingly, opening the door.

Castiel and Crowley walked forward into a huge lab area. There were glass and steel pens set up as makeshift triage areas scattered everywhere. Inside were people strapped securely to the beds, doctors and scientists keeping their distance from them as they screamed, groaned and thrashed at the heavy leather restraints. There were also other areas where scientists and doctors were taking samples, measuring and scribbling notes frantically on whiteboards. There was a heavy antiseptic smell in the air. The utter chaos and panic of it all was palpable.

Crowley scanned the area and then started walking towards a quieter corner that had a blocked off conference room and some office spaces. He selected a door in the corner and opened it, striding right in.

There was an older man in a lab coat seated there with a pile of notes scattered over a wooden desk. He looked up in surprise at the intrusion and stood up.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

Crowley smiled, stepping forward and extending his hand. "Hello, Director...Dr. Boyum, is it?", Crowley continued, glancing down at the man's name tag. "I'm Agent Teufel, but you can just call me 'Agent', if you prefer. This is Doctor Dempsey, from the CDC. We've come for updates on the 'situation', as it were, and to report back out own assessments."

Dr. Boyum frowned. "Sorry, we give bi-daily reports to both of your agencies as it is. What exactly is the purpose of sending you two here personally?"

"We're experts in this sort of, well, matter, you could say," Crowley answered smoothly.

The man's frown deepened. "I hardly see how that's possible, as outside of a movie theater, a virus like this has never presented itself..."

"So, it's a virus is it?", Crowley cut him off, interested. "Are you sure of that?"

"Early and follow up indications of patient blood samples is inconclusive, but, that's all been reported previously..."

Crowley moved over to the table and leaned against it. "Tell me then yourself, Director. What's your opinion on it? Why would you personally classify it as a 'virus'?"

The Director looked at Crowley nervously and then looked back at Castiel. "It's a bit technical, really, perhaps I should discuss this with your colleague..."

"Why not talk to me?", Crowley shrugged.

"Well, to be brutally honest, every single time I've talked to one of you agency types in the past week, the universal answer seems to come out; 'fire bomb'."

Crowley grinned widely behind his mask. "I'm a different breed, Director. I like to know what it is I'm barbecuing before I do it."

The director's shoulders relaxed a bit. "OK, but still, it'll be a bit on the scientific side."

"Enlighten me, " Crowley answered, holding out his hand.

"Well, I'll try to keep this as simple as I can, then, " Dr. Boyum replied. "Recent studies into evolutionary viral genomes have showed that the typical viral behavior of limited to small cell-to-cell transmission can be robustly increased by introducing a higher level of infection-level cells into a host. Those test were mostly conducted on tobacco and tomato plants, because of their susceptibility to genetic modification...with me so far, Agent?"

Crowley's eyes had already practically glazed over, but he managed a nod and short "Mm-hm."

The Director noticed the look and turned to Castiel instead, who, to his credit, managed to look interested.

"Anyway, it was theorized that other genetic cell groups would respond similarly when presented with the same conditions...but it was only theorized. Now, this outbreak," Dr. Boyum grabbed a long printout from his desk and excitedly showed it to Castiel. "Do you see that, Doctor?" Castiel nodded, and shot a covert panicked look at Crowley. Crowley gave him a small thumbs-up.

Dr. Boyum was looking at Castiel expectantly, then apparently decided not to wait for an answer. "Look at the transformation curves here, Doctor. They are enormous. Whatever is in these patient's blood stream is a mutation occurring at at least one-hundred-thousand times the rate of a normal tobacco or tomato plant mutation. At a genetic level. I mean, the mutation rate aside, it behaves just like the theory states. The only question is, where did the virus originate from in the first place? And where did this massive dose come from?"

Crowley pushed himself away from the desk and walked over, looking over the chart seriously before turning back to the director.

"I sincerely hope that you have an opinion about that as well, Dr. Boyum", he stated.

The director grinned. "I do, agent, as a matter of fact. Let's go meet Patient Zero."


	4. Patient Zero

**Patient Zero **

Dr. Boyum led them past the large complex to a back door, where he swiped a key card that led into a corridor that was very reminiscent of a prison block. There were cells lined up against one side of the hall with metal doors and reinforced plastic viewing ports. Crowley casually glanced into one of them and saw a zombie shambling around inside. _The ones in the outer area must still be in transition _, he surmised. _These lads are beyond needing examination. _

The director led them to a cell at the end of the corridor and opened up the viewport. He looked back at Crowley and Castiel and gave a tight smile.

"No need for masks here, Agent, Doctor. The genetic virus can only be transmitted through direct contact. And he can't reach us through this port."

"Just how much direct contact, do you figure is needed, Director?" Crowley asked, as he removed his mask and peered into the cell. He swept his eyes from side-to-side, but didn't see anyone.

"The virus is highly contagious. Rapid integration. Just a scratch that breaks the upper epidermal layer would do it," replied Dr. Boyum. "Um, I would take a step back there, Agent, if I were you..."

Crowley shrugged, "Why? I thought you said there was no way that he could..."

He took a sudden step back as a loud "GrraaaarRRRGGgggg!" scream came from the port, and a face sprang into it. It was followed by the sound of hysterical laughter from the cell.

"He loves to do that, he's a real pain in the ass that way, " Dr. Boyum muttered.

"Is that little shit laughing at me?", Crowley sputtered.

"You should have _seen _the look on your face, man!", came a voice from the cell. "I bet you pissed yourself, didn't you? C'mon, agent man, tell me, you did, didn't you?"

Crowley looked incredulously at the director, pointing a finger sideways at the door. "I thought you said he was the source of this? Why is he still coherent? Every other zombie I've ever seen in my life is for all practical purposes completely brain dead."

The Doctor cocked his head at him. "And exactly how many er, 'zombies' _have _you seen in your life agent?"

Crowley grunted in reply. "Just answer the question, Director, if you please. He's coherent. Please explain."

Dr. Boyum flipped a chart expertly out of a file holder on the wall next to the cell. He turned a few pages and looked up. "His blood shows all signs of the genetic virus. The first reported cases happened in his classroom at the high school that he attends. The entire room was infected, teacher included. Then the entire hall...then the gymnasium. Before the quarantine team arrived, they had lost half of the school to the outbreak. Only he," he said, nodding towards the door. "showed no symptoms. Infected, yes. But not a single side effect. This is actually typical viral behavior when it reaches plague-like levels of morbidity. Think Typhoid Mary. We identified him at that point as patient zero."

Crowley nodded. "He's a high school student, then, huh? Interesting. Public school?"

Dr. Boyum frowned and looked through the chart a bit. "Private actually."

"Hm," Crowley considered, rubbing his chin and looking into the window port. The kid had moved over to his bed and was now playing on a video game remote attached to a TV that Crowley couldn't see. He looked up and gave Crowley an evil lopsided smirk.

"Big private school or very exclusive?, he asked with urgency.

"Very exclusive, but I don't see what that has to do with...", Dr. Boyum began to ask.

Crowley wheeled. "Those are hospital scrubs that he's wearing. Where are the clothes that he had on at the school? And please, please don't tell me that you've burned them."

The director grimaced. "Actually, no, they are in a storage room down the hall. But they have absolutely nothing to do with this phenomenon. We've scanned every inch of them and tested the fibers. They're completely negative for any contagion."

"Oh, I believe they might just have _everything _to do with this contagion, Director Doctor. Absolutely everything," Crowley answered.

The director looked at him quizzically. "And why on earth would you think that, agent?", he asked carefully.

"Because I don't believe in coincidences, Doctor. Take me to them."

With a shake of his head and a sigh, the director waved them along down the hallway where they came to a door marked 'storage'. He fumbled for the right key and opened the door for them. They found 'Patient Zero's' clothes packed neatly in a cardboard box in a corner. It was marked with a hand-written label 'clean'. Crowley picked up the box and moved it to a folding table by the door and began sifting through it rapidly.

"What is he looking for?", Dr. Boyum asked Castiel in a whisper.

"Honestly, Doctor, I don't really know," Castiel replied, squinting at Crowley. He obviously had an idea in his head, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what...

"And voila," Crowley announced triumphantly, straightening up from the box and shaking out a sweater dramatically in front of him.

"It's...a sweater," Dr. Boyum said slowly.

"Yup," Crowley answered. "A sweater with a crest on it. Tell me Castiel, where have we seen a crest like this before?"

Dr. Boyum frowned and looked at Crowley. "Who exactly is 'Castiel'?", he asked.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Castiel, if you don't mind?"  
Castiel nodded slightly and touched two fingers onto the director's forehead. The doctor crumpled to the floor and Castiel leaned him gently back against some boxes. He took his key ring and walked back over to Crowley.

"Now, once again, Castiel, where did we see this crest before?"

Castiel squinted and took a step forward. Recognition dawned on him and he felt his body go ice cold.

"Joshua Vandecourte," he answered quietly.

"Bingo," Crowley replied, smiling. "Or to be more _precise _, the second such sweater being worn by the second such spoiled little rich snot wielding apocalyptic power that we've ran into in the space of the last week. Like I said, I don't believe in coincidences."

"There's our connection," Castiel straightened and examined the crest more closely. There was what appeared to be an inverted crucifix with something winding around it. The entire logo was wreathed in flames that came to two points over the cross facing each other. "I've never seen this before, have you?"

Crowley shook his head. "Never. But I'll set my boys down in research on it. They'll have an answer to us post-haste." He took a quick photo with his phone and sent it on. "In the meantime, however, I would love to have a little chat with our friend in there."

Castiel nodded. "Let's remember to be cautious. Remember that we underestimated Vandecourte as well, and it nearly cost us our lives."

Crowley grinned. "Oh believe me, I don't make the same mistakes twice, Castiel."


	5. The Interview

The Interview

They walked back to the cell where Patient Zero was being held. Castiel pulled Dr. Boyum's keys out of a pocket and shot a questioning glance at Crowley. Crowley shrugged and nodded. Castiel grimly nodded back and fit the key into the lock. The door opened with a hiss and they walked in.

The kid seated on his bunk gave them a semi-interested look and went back to his video game.

"Whatcha playin' there, sport?" Crowley amiably asked.

" Call of Duty 4," the teen answered, not bothering to give them even a glance. Crowley watched him play for a few seconds and then loudly cleared his throat, coughing into his fist.

"Not to interrupt...", Crowley began. The teen waved his hand in the air dismissively.

"Ten minutes, Agent man. Massing up for a big attack."

Crowley, looking scandalized, gave Castiel a quick glance. Castiel nodded in affirmation. Crowley grinned wickedly and snapped his fingers. There was a violent crack from the television and a puff of gray smoke. The picture blinked immediately out. Patient Zero's eyes went wide with shock.

"How'd you...what the hell'd you just do?", he stammered. A dark cloud started to appear over his features. He slammed the controller down and stood up quickly, squaring off directly in front of Crowley.

"You think that was funny, Agent man? What's up?!", he bumped Crowley's chest and held his arms out to his sides. When Crowley didn't budge, but patiently stared at him, waiting, he took a step back and looked Crowley and Castiel up and down.

"You better back the hell out of here...", he threatened. "I'll turn you both just like that," he continued, snapping his fingers for emphasis.

Castiel lowered his gaze and stood stock still. Crowley smiled back at Patient Zero with as much ease as if he were walking in a sunlit park.

"What the hell man? Usually you scientist types are too scared to come into the same room with me, forget letting me near them. Ain't you scared, Agent man?", the teen asked, still half-shouting in anger and frustration. Little popping noises and smoke continued to rise from the ruined television and Xbox.

"I'm not the one who should be scared right now, you little snot," Crowley replied smoothly, straightening his shirt sleeve. "Patient Zero or not, you won't be infecting me or my friend here. In fact, all you have succeeded in doing so far is putting me in a _very_ bad mood." Crowley raised his eyebrows seriously and stared the kid down. Patient Zero sat down slowly on his bed. "So, what can we talk about to put me in a better mood, hm? Because, believe me, you do not want to leave me in this state, sunshine. Bad things will _very_ likely happen to you if you leave me in _this_ mood."

"You wanna talk? That's it?", the teen answered. He shrugged. "Got no problem there. Bored as shit anyway. First off, though, I'm gonna need some new gear." He pointed at the TV and waved some smoke away that was hanging in the air. "You jack-offs ain't keeping me cooped up in here forever without some gear. After that, I'll tell you anything that you wanna know, Agent man."

Crowley took a step forward and knelt down in front of Patient Zero on one knee. His face was a contorted mix of barely controlled rage and amiability. "New gear. Fine. You play along with me, and you'll be all set. Now. Two question, for starters. One, what's your name? Mind you, I have no problem calling you a "little snot' for the rest of our interactions, but I think it'll move things along if you let me know."

The teen scratched his head. "Ummm, Leon? People call me L.B. for short though."

"L.B.?," Crowley questioned. Not 'L.V.'?"

"Umm, definitely not, dude, I'm pretty sure it's 'B'...for Bailey.", Leon answered.

"Bailey...", Crowley mused. "Not related to Vandecourte. Disappointing. That would have been easier. Hm." He looked up at Castiel before turning back. "You wouldn't happen to know a Joshua Vandecourte, just on the off- chance, would you?"

"Nuh-uh," Leon answered, a confused look growing on his face.

Crowley stood up and exhaled. He looked back at Castiel."Well, damn. He's not lying. I can tell. So these two are completely unaware of the other. Interesting. Allright, L.B., question number two..."

"Actually, it'd be question three, " Castiel corrected. "You asked him his name, and then about Joshua. So it's three."

Crowley closed his eyes slowly. "Castiel?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't help."

Castiel blinked in confusion and turned to look in the corner. LB watched the two, his confused expression growing deeper. Then, something seemed to click in his head, and his eyes narrowed.

"Waitasec, did you just call that guy 'Castiel'?", LB asked.

"I'm asking the questions, actually, and yes, that does happen to be his name," Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Does that mean something to you?"

"Shit. You're Crowley then, right?", LB answered, a lopsided grin forming on his face.

Crowley straightened up and shoved his hands in his pocket. He looked over at Castiel and raised his eyebrows. Castiel took a deep breath.

"How did he know...?", he started to ask.

"Someone has told you about us, then?", Crowley interrupted, turning back to LB. "Now _that_ . _That_ is truly interesting. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and put them on his knees, crouching right in front of LB's face. "Who?"

The kid shot back a defiant and poisonous smile. "All I gotta tell you is this; you and your Angel pal are so yesterday. History. Dead. Meat."

Crowley smiled right back. Castiel started forward when he saw the vein in Crowley's forehead start to throb in anger.

"Oh really?, " Crowley hissed rhetorically. "That's 'all you gotta tell me?' Is that all the information your benefactor provided you with? They didn't warn you that Castiel here is a Angel?" Crowley waved in Castiel's direction. Castiel took another wary step forwards towards Crowley, concern growing on his face.

"That means, soldier of Heaven, for the uninitiated, " Crowley continued, growling. His voice was getting louder. "He's capable of wreaking complete havoc on your skinny little arse at a moment's notice. And me? I'm bloody _Crowley_! I spend my afternoons elbow deep in the blood and guts of little punks like you. So please, GIVE. ME. A. BLOODY. EXCUSE!" LB shrunk back as Crowley roared at him. Crowley watched him for a second and stood back up.

"That didn't come up, huh? Pity. The person pulling your strings left you hanging out to dry, LB. Served you up to us on a silver platter, so to say." Crowley smiled dangerously. "So, let's just say that you really want to get out of this without a permanent limp," He raised his eyebrows and let that hang in the air for a few seconds. He nodded satisfactorily at LB's look of fear. "Once again. From the top. Who. Told. You. About. Us? And who gave you the zombie virus in the first place?"

LB looked away and tears actually began to form in his eyes. "They told me I would be safe from you, " He sniffed and turned back with something like defiance in his eyes. "No. They freakin' _promised _me. I'm safe from you two," his voice steadied as if he had decided something. He stood up, squaring off on Crowley again. He sniffed back his tears again and wiped the back of his arm across his eyes. "I ain't afraid of you. Try it. They'll save me. And you'll be sorry."

Crowley didn't flinch. He cocked his head and smiled. "Once more. Who's 'they', LB? And where did you get that virus?"

LB took a deep breath. "Go screw yourself."

Crowley gave him a tight lipped grin. He raised his palm and his eyes flashed red. There was a palpable rush of air as something unseen and heavy slammed into LB's chest. Castiel started rushing forward, a second behind. "Crowley, NO!", he was shouting. Crowley was standing staring at LB, a surprised look coming over his features. Castiel spun around and looked at LB, who was brushing his hands rapidly over his chest, looking for whatever it was that hit him, or any damage that it might have done. When he realized that he was OK, his smile came back, wider than ever.

"Thanks for opening the door for me, losers, catch you later!", he stated calmly, striding towards the door. Castiel shot out a hand and grabbed LB by the shoulder, holding him tight. LB looked down and grabbed Castiel's hand with his own, and, much to Castiel's surprise, peeled it off.

"Don't touch me...don't you _ever_ touch me," LB hissed. He then slammed an open palm into Castiels' chest. Castiel didn't budge. LB looked surprised. Castiel as well. Then the Angel smiled.

"Protected. Fine. You're protected. But apparently there are limits to what powers your masters have granted you, aren't there?"

LB's eyes grew wide with fear again. "Help me, " he choked out. Instantly, there was a flash of light and a brief smell of ozone. In the blink of an eye, LB was gone.

"He did _not_ do that himself, " Crowley grumbled, perturbed.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, his face full of suspicion. "No. He did not, " he stated matter-of-factly. "We need to find out what that crest means. And quickly."

Crowley nodded. "More importantly, we need to find out where that little shit just landed. Because if he's as infectious as the Doctor Director lead us to believe, then we have Typhoid Leon on our hands."


	6. Protected

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

I know better than to get on a soapbox and start a (semi)political rant. Normally.

But the recent events in canon on the show and the poor handling of Charlie's character have left me feeling actually hurt, abused and angry, and I need to get this out of my system, because bullies (and crappy writers) will never win against me. Ever.

I posted a review on imdb about the episode in question and my problems with it. If you are like me, and feel the need to shout back and vent, hopefully that review might help.

And hang in there. *hugs*

Link: /title/tt4489482/reviews-16 (Please add "imdb", then a ".", then "com" before the link, because god forbid, that we're allowed to post links here to legitimate websites... ;) )

**"Protected"**

Leon landed in a heap and rolled onto his side. Swirls of smoke rose from his clothing and he let out a cough. He blinked his eyes and looked around. It was the middle of the night and he was in some kind of abandoned cemetery. Weeds were growing everywhere and the chain link fence was mostly ripped down.

He rose slowly and brushed off his hospital scrubs. He looked around and saw nothing and no one around him. _Great_, he thought. He started moving off towards the gate and was trying to figure out where he could get a ride into the city and some new clothes when he felt something watching him from behind.

He stopped and turned around slowly, his bottom lip starting to tremble. _Oh please, please, please , don't let it be_...

"Hello Leon," came a voice out of the darkness. Leon felt his knees go weak. It was. It was _them_.

"It seems that you found yourself in a spot of trouble, isn't that correct?", came a second voice. Leon squinted into the darkness and could make out two forms standing in the middle of the cemetery. He gulped heavily and moved forward.

"Yeah, it was them, the ones you warned me about, Castiel and Crowley," Leon answered, his voice barely a whisper. "Thanks, um, for getting me the hell outta there and all."

"Hardly an effort, really," the first voice replied. "Besides, you weren't doing us much good stuck in that cell, anyway. It was inevitable. And now we know that the competition is here. Very informative."

"I think it's time to up the stakes then, don't you brother?", the second form asked. It raised it's hand and gestured to Leon to come closer. "LB, we have a little assignment for you."

Leon swallowed hard again and shuffled slowly forward. He could make out the smile on the face of the figure with his outreached hand and shuddered.

"What's the matter, Leon? You have nothing to fear from us. Didn't we tell you we'd protect you? Didn't we tell you that you'd get your payback? Is there any part of what we promised that didn't come true?"

Leon winced. "No, I mean, yeah, I mean, you guys did all that, sure. I didn't expect _zombies_, though...and like, I didn't know that those guys Castiel and Crowley were like, so leveled up, know what I mean? You never really gave me the Wiki on those two is all..."

The figure dropped his arm and smiled comfortably. "No, Leon, I suppose you're right. We didn't adequately prepare you for the challenge ahead." He clapped his arm amiably on the figure standing next to him. "I suppose we can bring you up to speed, can't we, brother?"

The first man shrugged. "It's unnecessary, in the long run, let's just give him the upgrade and his new mission."

"Upgrade?", Leon asked. "What upgrade?"

The second form stepped forward and clasped Leon around his wrist on his left arm. The touch was colder than ice and Leon let out a small cry.

"Shhhhhh," the dark figure whispered. "This won't hurt a bit."

There was a flash of red light and Leon felt something run up his arm and into his chest. His eyes burned a furious red and he felt power surge through him. He smiled.

"Hell's yeah," Leon exclaimed, stretching out his arms and flexing his fingers. He squinted at his forearm on his left arm and saw that the crest from his sweater was now emblazoned there like a brand. He frowned. Somehow, it didn't hurt at all. He looked up at the two figures in the shadows and watched them for a few seconds, waiting. They were watching him quietly, smiling. Creepy. "Ummmm, what did you guys do, exactly?"

There was a quiet chuckle from them both.

"Leon," the first one said. "We've extended your range. We're going to send you back to Baltimore now. Then all we need you to do is to take a little stroll down main street. The rest will take care of itself."

Leon smiled. "No problem. I can do that. Um, what happens if those two ass-hats show up again?"

"Don't worry. You take your little walk, and they'll be too busy to be able to do anything about you, LB," The second one said, moving forward. There was a flash of light as he raised his arm, and Leon felt the air crackle around him with electricity. The cemetery faded out of his vision and a street began to resolve itself. He looked up and saw a road sign. Orleans Street and St. Pauls. Middle of town. _No problem_, he thought. He smiled, and started to walk.

Crowley hung up with his office and leaned back on the hotel sofa and sighed. Justin had no answers on the symbol. It just wasn't possible. They had lore on every symbol since the dawn of time. Unless this was something _new_...

"Nothing from my sources, either," Castiel said, walking into the room. Crowley raised his eyebrows and ran a hand over his face.

"So, you can tell just by my expression?", Crowley let out an exasperated breath. "I need to work on my poker face." He looked up at the angel, his frustration obvious. "That was our biggest lead, Castiel, and we have nothing, bloody_nothing _more to go on."

Castiel frowned and sat on the edge of the couch. "We could always ask..."

"I swear to _your_ father, Castiel, that if you say anything that _even rhymes_ with 'Plaid of Sweaters', and I am ending this partnership, right here, right now."

"That's not even an option, even if you wanted...:"

Crowley waved his hand through the air, "I know, I know. But Castiel, you _know_ how I feel about the bloody Winchesters, and I _dare_ you to tell me that they don't deserve it. The way they treated me...", he trailed off. "I mean, really. How many times did they try to kill me, exactly? And 'succeeded', no less?", Crowley finished, making quotation marks in the air with his fingers.

Castiel nodded. "Crowley, I can't exactly blame you, of course, but, well, you weren't exactly giving them much of a choice."

Crowley held his hand over his mouth. "No, I suppose you're right on that," he mumbled. "Still. We're not calling the Winchesters. Regardless. Ever."

Castiel sighed. "Can I...?"

"No!" Crowley let out a breath of air, clapped his knees and stood up. "Look, the crest's symbol is new. If my people can't find it, Moose and Squirrel won't either. We're just going to have to find LB ourselves and get him somewhere where he can't just blink out on us again." Crowley's eyes narrowed, a thought coming to him. "About that," Crowley mused, turning back towards Castiel, "how do _you_ suppose he managed that, exactly?"

"I'm not sure."

Crowley considered Castiel for a few seconds. "Now, see? You are a _terrible_ liar, Castiel. You know something. Or at least suspect something. I saw that back at the hospital the second that little bastard teleported out of there. And now you want to keep that back, hm? Why could that be, I wonder?"

Castiel bristled and dropped his gaze. "I...may have had my suspicions." He stared off towards the kitchen and walked over to the window. A police siren wailed from outside as a cruiser raced down the street.

Crowley was watching Castiel patiently, his eyes wide open. "Well?!," he finally blurted out. "Care to share with the rest of the class?"

Castiel's shoulders slumped and he turned back to Crowley. "The ozone and lightning crackle...I...it reminded me of an Archangel."

Crowley shifted in his seat. "Well now." He scratched his chin and twisted his mouth into a half smile. "I have a question, then. And this is important, Castiel. Would you say that it _might have_ reminded you of one, or that you _actually_ think it might be one?"

Castiel moved his feet uncomfortably. "I...think it might actually be one."

"Oh...that's...oh, that's bloody wonderful," Crowley growled. "We're fighting a rogue Archangel?" He stood up and began pacing. He finally turned back to Castiel, who had started staring out of the window again. "Any idea as to _whom_ it could be? I thought there was a limited numbers of those out there, right?"

Castiel looked at the floor before answering. "There are. There were. And honestly, I don't know. In theory, it could also be a rogue god. They wield that level of power as well."

"_Gods_, Castiel, gods," Crowley answered. "Remember, Leon mentioned that 'they' promised to protect him."

Castiel sighed. He looked back out of the window as another police car raced by, followed by a firetruck. "Possibly. But zombie outbreaks and Old Ones? That isn't their style. They are more about war and destruction instead of causing apocalyptic events or releasing dark powers out onto the world. That's why I was leaning towards an Archangel. It fits more with an Angel's way of thinking."

Crowley rubbed his chin. "Or, a group of gods that has taken control of an Archangel. Is that possible?"

Castiel's eyes widened. "That would be...horrific. The power they could wield..."

Crowley walked towards the open bar and poured himself a brandy, downing it it one shot and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He pointed at Castiel with the open glass. "Exactly. Now, maybe we could make a list of possible Archangels that it could be? For starters?"

Castiel frowned. "That's just it. There were only seven. Raphael is destroyed. As you well know." Crowley nodded. "Uriel as well. Michael is sealed away with Lucifer. That leaves Raguel, the Archangel of Justice and Vengeance. And Ramiel, the first Grigori, the head of the Watchers. There is also Suriel, but no one has seen her since Moses. She stays secluded in Heaven, but is at least accounted for."

Crowley nodded."OK, then, Let's narrow it down to Raguel and Ramiel then. Last known sightings?"

Castiel paced back to the window and looked out. "Centuries ago. They were both nowhere to be found during the recent _events_ in Heaven. Most angels thought they were waiting to see the outcome. The Grigori, obviously, because that's what they do, usually, just watch, and Raguel. Well...there was some fear as to what Raguel would do once it all played out. He carried the responsibility of God's vengeance. And after the civil war in Heaven..."

"The angels were afraid there were some spankings to come," Crowley finished. "But they never did?"

Castiel shook his head no. He turned around and leveled his gaze at Crowley. "They never did. But maybe that's what's happening now." Crowley let out a deep breath that he had been holding, and pressed two fingers into his eyes. There was a claxon of alarms in the street as several more police cars raced down the avenue.

"What the bloody hell is going on out there?" Crowley growled, moving from behind the bar and walking to stand by Castiel at the picture window.

He looked out and his jaw went slack. He turned his head slowly to Castiel and saw the same look of shock on his face.

"I think we just found Leon," Castiel whispered.


	7. Typhoid Leon

**Typhoid Leon**

The police were quick to form a barricade, but the chaos behind their lines was uncontrollable. Crowley whistled softly and Castiel glared, his trenchcoat flapping in the wind. Beyond the police line zombies milled everywhere, shuffling and making grabs at people that ventured out to either see what was going on or to try to make a desperate run for the barricades. None of them were making it; there were too many zombies on the streets already.

A low growl emanated from Castiel's throat as he watched a man go down, the zombies ripping at his body. Crowley placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Castiel, _don't_. What do you really think you can do out there?", he said gently.

Castiel spun around. "I can't just leave them all trapped there, Crowley!" he shouted, pointing back into the army of zombies. "There are too many innocent people!"

"And how are you going to get them all out, Castiel?", Crowley answered evenly. "Angel or not, there's too many of them, and too many trapped people to worry about. They'll rip you to little shreds while you're trying to save those people, and then you'll never be able to rescue anyone ever again. Let the police and the National Guard do their job. At least it's contained."

Castiel grimaced and wrenched his arm free. "Fine. I see your point. But unless we can find Leon, it is _not_ contained. Once an outbreak reaches this level, it escalates exponentially."

Crowley huffed in exasperation and nodded. "Agreed on that point. But I am _not_," Crowley glanced towards the barricades, "going in _there_ to root him out. We need some kind of backup." He was reaching for his cell phone when he felt someone moving towards them.

"Did someone say 'backup'?", a voice called out. "Cause fellas, the cal-val-ry has arrived."

An impossible skinny guy wearing a cowboy hat and a perfect clone of Castiel's trenchcoat came casually strolling up, his hands in his pockets. He pulled a toothpick out of his mouth and grinned widely.

"What have we got here, guys? I mean, word out on the Hunter net was there was trouble brewing here in Baltimore, but _this_, this is something else."

"I know you, don't I?", Crowley cocked his head, "you're that hacker kid, aren't you?"

The guy shifted uncomfortably for second and scratched behind his ear. "Actually, that would be 'Head of Hunter Communication and Dispatching', of HHCD for short, but hey, it's just a title, you know?," he answered, his eyebrows raising in a slight challenge. "Name's Garth." He offered his hand. Crowley looked down at it and looked back up, his hands staying put in his pockets.

"I don't remember asking for help from the _Hunters_, Garth," he said acidly.

"Actually, that might have been me," Castiel replied, walking up and shaking Garth's still outstretched hand. "_My_ contacts," he said firmly, turning back to meet Crowley's eyes. "I've been in contact with them all week."

"I thought I had your phone bugged," Crowley muttered. " I need new minions...some that know how to block certain phone numbers...look _Hunter_," he said, looking back at Garth, "not to be incredibly ungrateful or anything, but what exactly are you supposed to do here to help? This is an exceedingly large zombie outbreak, and if the Angel here and I can't handle it alone..."

Garth held up a hand palm up and smiled confidently. "No worries, _mi amigos_, I never work alone. Call it...a _pack_age deal." He looked back and held up two fingers into his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. There was a commotion from behind the police cars and the cops began to scatter. Crowley's eyes widened as about twenty large wolves came bounding up the street, seemingly out of nowhere and not caring the least about the additional uproar they were causing. They looked up at Garth, tongues lolling happily from open mouths.

Garth grinned widely and looked back at Crowley and Castiel. "Now, Castiel, from what you said on the phone, there's someone in there that we need to find and bring back, right?"

Castiel smiled. "His names Leon. Here's his sweater." He reached into his coat, pulled out a bundle and held it up to Garth, who closed his eyes and took a big whiff of it, burying his skinny face deep into it's folds. He pulled back his head after a few seconds and winked at Crowley. "Got it. Party time," he said, smiling. Suddenly, his face started growing large whiskers and he dropped down to all fours. In only the space of a few seconds, a skinny, but rather large wolf was standing there, the trenchcoat and cowboy hat lying in a discarded pile next to him. He barked at the others, and as one, they sprung into the melee and started racing past the zombies, who made desperate grabs at the animals, but the wolves were far too quick. Where the mass of zombies grew thick, the wolves snapped at their legs and yanked them out of the way.

Crowley watched in wonder and looked back at Castiel. "Werewolves, Castiel? _Werewolves_? Really?" Castiel shrugged. "You have heard the human expression about throwing gasoline onto a fire, right?", Crowley grumbled, raising his eyebrows and leaving the question hanging in the air.

"Yes, well, desperate times. Besides, Garth is a Hunter, he's on the side of good."

"Speaking from experience, Castiel, that doesn't necessarily mean that the individual in question is beyond reproach." Crowley sighed and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, looking out onto the mass chaos of the milling zombie horde. " Let's just hope he's good enough to actually help."

...

Leon walked up to the apartment building and stared at the hundred or so ringers on the bell panel. He grinned and ran his hand over them all, listening to the cacophony of signal beeps. He waited a few seconds and heard one of the speakers crackle to life. Achievement unlocked...

"Hello?", came a little girl's voice meekly from the other end.

"Hi, sweetie, " Leon replied. "I'm from the fire department, " he lied smoothly. "Your building's in big trouble. Can you open the door?" He waited a few seconds more before the speaker crackled on again.

"I'm not supposed to do that for strangers," came the meek reply.

"Look out the window, honey," Leon answered, trying to sound as soothing as possible. "The whole block's dangerous. Do you see the fire engines?" He waited. "I have got to get in there and help you and your friends. Every second counts, and there'll be _big trouble_ if I can't get in there."

There was a few more seconds of silence before he heard a buzz and a click. The main door opened up. Leon smiled. He opened the door and moved inside. The brand on his arm started glowing and red smoke began to spread from his arms, moving under the doors. The smoke spread out rapidly, like a thing alive, climbing stairwells and elevator shafts, hungrily shooting into every crack and crevice. In just a couple of minutes, he was rewarded with the sounds of opening doors, groans and the grating of shuffling feet coming from above him.

He stood there for a few minutes and watched his new zombies file out into the street. A little girl with a doll clutched to her chest shuffled past as well, her blank eyes fixed forward. Leon reached out a hand and patted her head as she walked by.

"Atta girl," he whispered.

The absolute power that he was feeling pulsed through him. He knew exactly how to proceed. A feeling of righteousness on his mission had taken over his mind. He caressed the fiery red crest burned into his arm gently and smiled again. The smoke stopped flowing out.

He walked back out onto the street and frowned at the police barricades. He willed his army forward to attack it as some points, just to keep them on their toes. In a few hours, it wouldn't matter, anyway. He'd have the whole city. Then the next one, then the next, and eventually the entire country. A week or so later, the world. His masters were powerful, and now, so was he. No more bullies robbing him and kicking his ass. No more chants of 'gay-mer guy'. They had promised him revenge, and he was getting it.

He walked casually onto the sidewalk and moved to the next building. He had just turned towards the door when something heavy struck him in the back, knocking him down. He jaw hit the concrete and his head spun. He tried to get up but felt himself pinned. _What the hell_...?

Het let out a scream as he felt teeth clamp down into his leg and he felt himself being swiftly dragged down the building's steps and out into the street. His fingers clamored and raked at the sidewalk, but he couldn't find a hand hold.

_Help me! Help me!_, he called out in his mind. When nothing happened, he started screaming it out loud. "Help! HELP!" There was still no response. _Those bastards!_, his mind raced. _They left me hanging!_ The feeling of righteousness and confidence drained out of him in a sudden rush. He tried desperately to twist around as he bounced along the street to catch a glimpse of what it was that was dragging him. He could feel teeth clamped around both of his legs and felt blood running down them. He managed to see something like a couple of big dog's heads but he couldn't get a good look as they shook him violently and dragged him further along. They were pulling him straight towards a barricade. _What the hell?_ If he got to the other side, it'd just end up worse for them. He'd release his power into the safe zones...that's exactly what he wanted...

He was dragged over the barricade and unceremoniously dumped on the ground with a final flip that landed him on his backside. He looked up and his stomach dropped. _Them_...

"Well, hello there, sunshine," Crowley beamed down at him, his hands on his knees. "We've been busy today, haven't we?"

Leon managed a weak smile. "I thought you clowns knew already. I'm protected..." He tried to stand up, but a strong restraining hand held him on the ground. He turned his head. Castiel glared down at him.

"Stay down," Castiel rumbled warningly. "Don't believe for a second that your _friends_ are going to teleport you out of here again." There was also a low growl from a few large wolves that were standing a few yards away, watching Leon carefully.

Leon spat on the ground. "Man, I don't need to leave. You idiots brought me right where I need to be." He raised his arm and willed the red smoke to come out." Nothing happened. He squeezed his eyes tight and concentrated harder. Still nothing. He felt his stomach drop and he broke out in a cold sweat.

"I...it's not working...what the hell did you do to me?"

Crowley scratched his beard and looked up into the sky. "Yeah, about that. We've kinda figured out exactly whom your _masters_ are." He looked back down meaningfully at Leon. Leon stared back, slack-jawed. "So, we took certain precautions," Crowley hissed, looking down at the ground that Leon was sitting on.

Leon looked down as well. The pavement was covered in a variety of glyphs and symbols that he couldn't make out. "What the hell is that supposed to be?", he whined.

"Angel wards," Castiel said in a low voice next to his ear. "Their power can't help you here, Leon."

Leon looked around and up at Castiel. "But...what the hell...you're an Angel too, right? How the hell are you standing here?"

Castiel straightened up and raised his eyebrows at Crowley, who nodded back at him.

"So, we were _right_ about that, " Crowley smiled and moved forward. "I love it when my deductive reasoning comes to fruition. And dolts like you confirm it." He grinned widely in Leon's face. "As for Castiel, he's already _in_ the circle, he doesn't need to break into it anymore." He gave Leon a mock frown. "What do they teach you kids these days? Seems like 'Common Sense 101' isn't one of the subjects."

He paced a few steps away and turned to face Leon again. "Now. Where were we? Ah yes. Names, Leon. I want bloody names."

Leon started sweating profusely then. "I...I can't...", he squeaked out finally. "They'll, oh god, it'd be _worse_ than death, man...I can't"

Crowley grimaced and leaned in closer. He was practically nose to nose with Leon. "Oh, that's OK Leon. Really. Because _now_ I also know that you do know their names. And that's all I really need to get started." He gave Leon a menacing stare. Then he straightened back up and whipped out his cell phone.

"Justin, we need a mobile lab unit sent to my location. _Now_. Ping my phone. Never mind the traffic jams, just plow right through them," he looked up cautiously at Castiel's warning look and gave a shrug. "They're just zombies, Castiel. They're already dead, for all practical purposes." Castiel continued glaring. "OK, _fine_...", he said, frustrated, bringing the phone back to his head. "Justin, tell them to be careful getting it here, but still...chop-chop. Oh and Justin? Ward the vehicle. For angels." He pressed 'end' and smiled with undisguised hostility at Leon.

"Now then, let's talk about what we are going to do about the little mess you made here, shall we?"


	8. Interview: The Sequel

**Interview: The Sequel **

Crowley hovered menacingly over LB in the large van as it jostled along. They had exited the main highway leaving Baltimore and were heading into the wooded Maryland countryside. They had let LB see everything, the unspoken warning that they were going to be far away from prying eyes and ears was subtlety but plainly stated. Leon sulked the entire time, taking occasional looks out of the front window and then slumping down more and more as he saw the exit signs grow less and less frequent. Crowley never said a word, he just glowered at LB. Castiel was sitting in the passenger seat, since all of the rear walls of the van were covered in Angel wards. The van itself was an elongated, extra large model, more like a bus in size. The rear was packed with lab equipment. A couple of men in white coats waited patiently, watching LB and Crowley. Garth was also in the rear with them, humming along with a tune inside of his head.

Finally, the van pulled off of the road and Crowley clapped his hands on his knees and stood up.

"Well now, we're here. Let's get this started, shall we?", he said, shooting a not-so-friendly grin at LB, who hung his head.

"Crowley, remember what we talked about...", Castiel was looking into the back of the van, his face carried a warning, but he was obviously a bit worried.

Crowley looked at him and smiled. "Yes, Castiel, I remember. No 'uncalled-for' violence." He turned back at LB and grinned. "Of course, it is _entirely_ up to Leon here as to what is called for and what is, in fact, not." Leon let out a groan. Garth wrinkled his forehead.

"Just cause Castiel there can't come back here and stop you, Crowley, doesn't mean _I_ can't," Garth said, raising his eyebrows in warning.

"Heel, Fido. I'll rein it in," Crowley grumbled in response. Garth put a toothpick in his mouth, and with a sigh, leaned back in his seat, eyes still fixed on Crowley.

"Now then, LB, here comes the first try," Crowley said, low and even, "Are we, in fact, dealing with a couple of rogue Archangels?"

LB's eyes widened. "You...know that already, don't you? Why are you even asking me?", he finally replied cautiously.

Crowley leaned back. "Call it a base-line test. I need to see how much you're going to _try_ to lie to me, and thus informing me how much actual violence is 'called for' with my future questions."

LB turned his head aside. "Yeah, they're both Archangels," he shrugged. "Least, that's what they said. How the hell am I supposed to know for sure?"

Crowley rubbed a hand over his beard, considering. "Actually, quite astute, LB. Hm." He thought about it for a few seconds before looking back at LB. "Did they demonstrate any power? Do something that might look like magic to you? I mean, aside from the teleportation trick."

LB stared at the floor, thinking. "They gave me this brand," he answered, looking down at his arm. Crowley's eyes followed his gaze and gave a low whistle.

"Now that looks like it might have hurt a bit, LB. Did it?"

LB shrugged. "Nope. Just...there was a flash of light, and a rush of power or something. Then I felt like, better than I ever have in my life."

Crowley leaned forward. "What color was the flash of light, Leon?"

LB looked up, confused. "What color?"

Crowley leaned closer. "Yes, what color? And I'm the one asking the questions." There was a low, warning cough from Castiel from the front seat. Crowley shook his head slowly. "What, Castiel? What's the matter now?"

"He's co-operating, Crowley. And he's scared."

Crowley responded without looking back. "Those are two _good_ things, Castiel. And believe me when I tell you this, I am a _lot_ more experienced at this than you are, and as such, I am more than aware that I'll get more information out of him while he's compliant than if I have to start cutting him into little bloody pieces..." he smiled knowingly at LB, who shrank back. "So please, try not to interrupt."

Castiel sighed and nodded reluctantly.

"Now, again, what color was the light, LB?"

"Red," he answered quickly. "Really bright red."

Crowley frowned and looked back at Castiel, who shook his head from side-to-side.

"Are you sure?, Crowley asked.

LB nodded vigorously. "Positive, man. Bright red."

Crowley stood up and walked a couple of paces away. "Well that doesn't make any bloody sense. Only greater demons leave that signature of power...unless..." He looked back at Castiel. "Castiel, do you suppose it could be only _one_ Archangel, teamed up with a demon?"

Castiel shook his head. "An Archangel would never lower their self to work with a demon, Crowley. I seriously doubt that is the case..." He trailed off as he noticed that Crowley was staring at him, wide-eyed, an incredulous look on his face. "Oh...", he answered quietly, turing away in embarrassment.

Crowley let out an exasperated breath and looked at the ceiling pleadingly. "So, we very likely have a team out there copycatting us, then, " he said, musing. "Or...trying to replace us..." his face brightened as a thought came to his head. "LB; you told us that 'me and my angel pal are history', is that correct? Back at the hospital. Remember that?"

LB nodded.

"How so, Leon? Did they tell you that?" Crowley asked, bending down to look him in the eyes.

LB nodded again. Crowley smiled triumphantly. "Do feel free to elaborate, LB. What exactly did they say?"

LB swallowed. "Man, they are going to kill me. Or worse. They warned me, man..."

Crowley got closer. "Well, now, _you're_ just having a shit week, aren't you, Leon? Maybe it's... I don't know...karma? For killing all of those people?" He straightened up and walked a few steps away. He turned back around, his features contorted in anger. "I don't _care_ what they threatened you with, LB, get it? _I_ have you now, and _that_ is all that you ever need concern yourself with at this moment. What your benefactors may or may not do to you is _none of my bloody concern_ . What is, is _answers_, Leon. Nothing else. Are we clear?" He strode forward menacingly. Castiel rose halfway out of his seat, and a low growl emanated from deep in Garth's chest. Crowley ignored them both. "Are we clear?!", he repeated, his eyes turning a deep red.

LB nodded, eyes wide. "Yeah, yeah! I get the picture... just...please man...can you...is there any way to get me out of this? I didn't mean for any of this...it just...man...this is all out of control...can you just take it back? I want to take it all back..." Tears started streaking down his cheeks. Crowley let out a sigh and wiped a hand over his face, shaking his head.

"Allright Leon, allright," he conceded. "I, of all people, know what happens when people make deals with demons. Especially with the 'best intentions' in mind. We'll...try to get you off of their radar. We have ways to ward you. But after that, you're on your own, Leon. You still have a lot to answer for. Pity. You've barely got started in life and your own crap decisions have ruined it for you already." Leon's head sagged. Crowley grunted and looked out of the van's front window. "I _am_ trying, Castiel. I am. But this 'good guy' crap is such a pain in the ass...", he mumbled. "Leon, I'm still going to need that answer," he said after awhile. "What exactly did they say about us?"

Leon sighed. "Are you sure that you can protect me...?"

"Leon!", Crowley shouted in warning.

Leon jumped a litle in his seat. "Allright, man, allright, " he whined. "They said that they were going to be taking everything from you, that's it. They were going to stop whatever operation that you're running and take it over for themselves."

Crowley spun around and stared at Leon. Castiel's eyes grew wide in fear. They shared a glance before Crowley moved back towards LB.

"Is that all, Leon? Nothing else?"

Leon nodded. "Um...also a maybe a bit about how they were going to tear you into little pieces first, but yeah, that's it, man, I swear..."

Crowley nodded, frowning. "Names, Leon? Did you get their names?"

Leon shook his head.

Crowley sighed. "Absolutely nothing? Think Leon. Think!"

Leon started a bit, shrinking back. "Brothers!", he answered after a couple of seconds. "Brothers. They kept calling each other 'brother' all the time."

Crowley nodded. "Thank you Leon. I believe you. We'll do what we can to help. But first," he said, grinning wickedly. "We're going to need your blood." Crowley started reaching into his jacket like he was pulling a gun.

Leon flinched back, fear rising in him. "My...blood...? I thought...Oh shit man, no...don't..!"

Leon let out a sigh of relief when he saw the small syringe that Crowley removed from his pocket. Crowley was smiling from ear to ear.

"Crowley..." Castiel grumbled from the front seat.

"Oh please, Castiel. It was _completely_ worth it," Crowley answered, jabbing the needle into Leon's arm.

A few hours later, Castiel straightened up from Leon, who was lying down on a cot in the van, removing his hand's from Leon's still glowing chest. Leon looked down at it and brushed his hands over his shirt as the glow faded.

"And that'll work, man?", Leon asked, looking up doubtfully at the angel.

"Yes," Castiel replied. "It kept Sam and Dean safe from Angels and Archangels alike. That, combined with the anti-demon runes I've included, should keep them from being able to find you."

Leon squinted at him. "Whatdya mean, 'should'?"

Castiel hesitated. "I'm...still not exactly sure how that brand they gave you works. They may be able to track you through that. And I can't seem to remove or heal it. There are very few marks that can do that."

Leon looked nervously at his forearm. "I mean...man, I can't even feel it anymore. When they first gave it to me...it was like it was talking to me. Now, it's like on mute or something. Does that mean it's out of juice?" He asked hopefully.

Castiel shook his head slowly. "I honestly don't know Leon. We can only hope for the best. The fact that they haven't been able to find and rescue you this whole time indicates to me that it's a distinct possibility."

Leon looked dubious. "Man, if they come back for me..." He shuddered. "Can you guys, like, let me tag along? I...look, I'm not stupid or anything, I know I've screwed up. Big time. But, if you guys are around, and they come for me, maybe, I dunno, you can take 'em out or something?"

Castiel looked back at Crowley, who shook his head at him. "No, Leon. I'm afraid that this is the best we can do. We aren't sure that they're not listening in with that mark. And we can't risk that. We've protected you as best we can. But just remember, if you are in enough danger, and your faith is strong enough...I will be able to hear you and help."

Leon nodded. "Um...thanks, Mr. Castiel. I'll keep that in mind. And...I hope that you guys figure this zombie crap out. Really."

Castiel nodded. "Me too, Leon. In the meantime, stay safe." He nodded at one of the escorts in the van, who opened the door and led Leon out to a waiting black Humvee. Leon looked back.

"Straight home, Leon. No detours," Castiel said, closing the van back up and walking over to Crowley, who was looking over some lab results with his scientists.

"No, no Carlos, see here..." Crowley was mumbling. "That's the exact same structure...can't you recognize that?"  
The man in the white coat grunted. "But it's got all kinds of new structure in it. I'm telling you, sir, it's not the same virus."

"Then it's been upgraded," Crowley grumbled, pressing the chart into Carlos' hands. He looked up at Castiel and nodded. "It's confirmed. It's Croatoan. Or...a variation of it."

"A variation?", Castiel frowned.

"It's been mucked around with," Crowley answered. "Modified. Improved, in a fashion. It spreads like wildfire now, but the more complex gene structure means the zombies created are a bit different than the previous Croaton versions. Slower, but just as aggressive. And the rapid spread and incubation means more of them in a shorter time."

Castiel nodded. "And can it be reversed?"

Crowley looked back at his lab team, who looked up gravely at him. "No, Castiel, it can't."

"How many people in Baltimore were infected?", Castiel asked slowly.

Crowley looked at the floor. "About a hundred and fifty-thousand, Castiel."

Castiel stepped back. "And is it contained?"

Crowley shook his head slowly. "It is now," he said, clicking a button on a remote control. A television installed in a wall came to life, CNN scrolling warnings and evacuation notices across it's screen.

"...Guard. The Office of the President of the United States has declared a state of emergency in downtown Baltimore as the unknown plague keeps spreading through the streets," the newswoman was saying. Pictures of military helicopters airlifting people off of rooftops was playing on the screen.

"Once again, the city of Baltimore has been declared a quarantine zone. The military, in co-operation with FEMA and the local police and fire departments, are sealing off the entirety of the city, and attempting to remove as many un-infected people to an observation facility as a precaution. If you are still in the city, please try to get to a roof and wait for assistance," the anchor continued. "Citizens are warned not to attempt to get out via the roadways, as the infected people are highly aggressive, and attacking anyone that they find. They should be considered extremely dangerous and not to be engaged. After the tragic flooding of New Orleans last week, the President has declared..."

Crowley clicked off the television and slammed the remote on the table. He grabbed onto the sides of it with both hands and bent over.

"Please tell me Castiel, that we haven't just lost a second major US city in a week, I hate losing Castiel...", he growled dangerously.

Castiel walked forward and put a hand on Crowley's shoulder. "We haven't lost anything, Crowley. We need to find the ones responsible and defeat them. And soon."

Crowley had his head bent and eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Oh, believe me, Castiel, there is nothing else I would rather do. I'm pissed off now, Castiel. Truly, truly, pissed off." He straightened up from the table and moved away. Castiel glanced down at the smoking black handprints that he had left there, set his jaw, and followed him out of the van.


	9. Oh for Two

**Oh for Two**

Castiel watched the National Guard trucks leaving in streams for nearly an hour. Crowley had joined him on the hilltop outside of Baltimore, spending the first fifteen minutes or so pacing and occasionally checking in with Justin at the office, and also with the lab as to whether there were any further developments regarding the virus. Unfortunately, it was the same story. The virus was incurable. The people that had been infected in Baltimore were lost. The city itself was to be cordoned off and declared a quarantined zone. The official news reports said nothing about dealing with the zombies themselves. _Unofficially_, Crowley had found out through various undisclosed channels that a task force was being set up at the White House to find out if it were feasible to exterminate the zombies without too much public backlash. The public relations disaster of wiping out nearly two-hundred thousand people, diseased or not, was proving tricky for the government to handle. But they apparently knew what Crowley already knew – there was no other option, the people were already dead.

This did nothing to improve Crowley's mood.

He kicked at the dirt for about the hundredth time and glowered again at the city.

"How do they do it, Castiel?", he asked at last. Castiel shook his head, not understanding.

"Sorry, who? How does who do what?"

"Moose and Squirrel. The _bloody_ Winchesters. They never...they somehow manage to save the world from disasters like _this_ every single time," Crowley exclaimed, his arm sweeping out over the unfolding evacuation. "They don't lose city after city. And how? That's what I'd like to know, Castiel. What makes them so bloody special? We're smarter than they are, stronger than they are, and at least just as determined to 'save people and hunt things' as they _ever_ were. What are we doing _wrong_?! Can someone please explain that to me?!", he finished his rant, shouting up into the sky.

Castiel cocked his head. "I think that you're being too hard on yourself, Crowley. We're not doing anything wrong."

Crowley looked at Castiel, confused. "Reaaaally," he said, drawing the word out. "Too hard on myself? How so, Castiel? New Orleans. Under water. Baltimore. Future copy of a Detroit suburb. How _exactly_ am I being too hard on myself?"

"Sam and Dean, for one, aren't any better than us in terms of saving the world, Crowley," Castiel answered. "And secondly, I find it speaks volumes towards your own character that you are, in fact, trying, _actually_ trying, to save people. Do you even realize what a difference that is in you, Crowley? Three years ago, you'd be completely indifferent to two cities going down in flames. You probably would have used the opportunity to buy cheap real estate."

Crowley gave him a lopsided grin. "Well, I have always been more than a trifle misunderstood. I've always told people that, but they never believed me," he answered with more than a hint of sarcasm. He then frowned and stuffed his hands in his pockets, letting out a breath of air. "You still haven't answered my question, however, Castiel. How do Sam and Dean always manage to save the world? All we seem to be doing is losing it."

Castiel's brow furrowed, a serious look coming over his features. "Were you even listening to me, Crowley? I just said that Sam and Dean are hardly error free in saving the world. In fact, I can recall at least three apocalyptic events that they caused practically on their own - without any outside help - just trying to keep themselves alive. If you recall, one of those events actually released Lucifer himself from the Pit of Hell onto the earth. Is _that_ what you would consider a good track record? Yet, still," Castiel shrugged, "they manage to end up doing more good than harm. That's all any of us can do sometimes."

Crowley's eyebrows raised considering. "Well, you actually do have a point there Castiel," he muttered, conceding. His phone rang and he answered it quickly. It was the Humvee drivers, reporting that Leon had arrived safely at his house. Crowley smiled.

"OK then. Enough of this self pity nonsense. Let's do something besides standing here feeling sorry for ourselves, then. We find who's truly responsible for these disasters, and put them in a hurt locker. Then we bury that burn it. Not necessarily in that order." He grinned wider, then clapped his hands together. "Right, so, let's go pay a visit on our friend LB, shall we?"

Castiel frowned. "LB, but...we sent him home..."

Crowley's smile widened. "Exactly. Straight home. And do we remember what happened when we tried to transport the first little teen-age wonder Joshua Vandecourte somewhere?"

Castiel blanched. "They found the smoking wreckage of the vehicle and two dead bodies."

"Right," Crowley replied. "And no Joshua. My sending LB on his merry way was my version of catch and release, Castiel. My money is that our opponents are keeping close tabs on his movements, Angel and Demon wards or not. In other words...", he paused, holding out his hand for Castiel to continue his thought.

"...he'll lead us right to them.", Castiel finished. Crowley beamed.

"Top marks, Choir-Boy, head of the class. Now, shall we?" Crowley walked briskly off of the hilltop to the parked Ferrari on the road. Castiel got in after him. The engine roared to life and Crowley left tire tracks in the asphalt heading into the Baltimore suburbs.

* * *

The black Humvee pulled into the driveway of the rather large Baltimore mansion that was LB's home. He got out and let out a sigh. His parents were in Barbados for the rest of the month, he had the place to himself. He couldn't believe he was back. It seemed too...normal. The past week was too vivid to start to fade into memory. He desperately wanted it to. Some of it was his memory, some of it was like he was just observing, trapped behind his own eyes. He shivered and pulled back his sleeve again. The brand stood out red against his skin, not fading, not healing. He no longer felt a _pull_ from it, the will that it seemed to exert. He quickly pulled his shirt back over it and put his keys in the door.

The familiar scents of home reached his nose and Leon found himself relaxing a bit and smiling. Home was always safe. No bullies. No crazy angels. No zombies. Just him and...

He froze. Someone was in the kitchen. He heard the fridge door open and a bottle hit the counter. His stomach turned to ice...

"C'mon over, Leon," came a call from the kitchen. Leon didn't recognize the voice. He frowned, wondering if he could make it to his Dad's gun rack.

"No, you can't," came the reply to his unspoken question. Leon's knees went weak and he almost tumbled to the floor. "C'mon over. We won't hurt you, promise. You have _so_ much more to do for us."

Leon swallowed hard and walked slowly into the kitchen. Around the cooking island were gathered three teenagers, two guys who he didn't recognize, one with sandy-brown straight hair, one a short-haired blond, and one girl with fire-red hair wearing tight leather jeans and a ripped Metallica T-Shirt. They each had taken a beer from the fridge and sipped them casually, eyeing LB as he walked towards them.

"Um, I don't...it's...it's you isn't it?", Leon asked tentatively, although he already knew the answer to that question. The blond guy practically glowed with energy, and the girl with red hair had a kind of aura around her like black smoke and flames. Neither aura was visible to LB's eye, but the air around them shimmered with the _suggestion_ of the effect.

The girl smiled. "Of course it is, Leon, after a fashion...whatd'ya think?", she said, twirling a bit and shaking her butt at him. "Hot, right?"

The blond teen frowned and shook his head. "Brother, really, sometimes your penchant for the gaudy goes too far."

The girl simpered at him. "The universe is a colossal joke, brother, and if I have the choice between being so damned _serious_ all the time like you or laughing at it, I'll play the jester, thank you very much."

The blond teen sighed. "If you insist. It's not like I would expect anything else from you." He turned back to Leon, who was standing at the edge of the kitchen still, hugging himself tightly. "Leon, come _here_," he said, waving LB in. "We're not angry, honestly. We anticipated all of the events that have occurred. And you, you're still on the winning team, right?" At this he raised his eyebrows dangerously, letting the question hang in the air.

Leon nodded quickly. "Right, winning team. Def. With ya all the way."

The blond nodded, satisfied. "Allow me then to introduce you to Jesse, Leon. He's going to be running point on our mission from now on." The sandy-brown haired teen nodded and raised his beer. Leon looked him up and down. He was wearing beat up jeans and a loose fitting button-down shirt. He was very tanned, like he had spent a lot of time working outdoors.

Leon nodded. "So, what can Jesse do?", he asked. So far, the 'brothers' had granted powers and crests to at least five other teens that they told him about, but he had never met or heard about Jesse before. He hadn't lied when he told Crowley and Castiel that he had never heard of the Vandecourte kid. _I guess that makes six_, he thought to himself, shrugging.

"Oh, he can 'do' _anything_ , Leon. Truly. A regular chip off of the old block, this one. Kind of hard to find, too," the red-haired girl smiled, putting an arm around Jesse, who slumped a bit. The girl frowned. "Why was that, again, Jesse? Why were you so hard to find? Australia, was it? You wouldn't have been trying to hide from us now, would you? That would be...so _rude_ of you."

Jesse looked at the blond teen for help. The guy walked over and slowly removed the girl's arm from Jesse's shoulder. The girl let out an annoyed huff and stalked away to grab another beer. The blond held Jesse by his shoulders firmly and looked him directly in his eyes.

"Jesse, don't pay attention to him, please. Remember, Heaven has ordained this as well. You just have to believe me. It is the right thing to do. It is God's command."

Jesse's eyes darted back to the girl nervously once before settling back on the guy. Finally, he blinked acceptance and nodded. The blond teen nodded back, releasing his shoulders. He took a long swig from his beer, swallowed and nodded again. He set the beer down on the counter with a thud and looked back up at Leon.

"Now, if I'm not mistaken, the real fun is about to begin."

Leon immediately heard the roar of an engine from outside growing louder as it approached the house, followed by a screech of tires as a car came squealing to a stop. He then heard running footsteps entering the lobby, then slowing as Castiel and Crowley came walking carefully into the room.

"Well well well," Crowley growled. "Is the gang truly all here?"

The blond guy smiled. "Really, Castiel, _this_ is who you keep company with these days?", he asked, ignoring Crowley. "What _would_ Father say?"

Castiel frowned and squinted his eyes. "I don't know you...you're an Angel...but, how is it that I don't know you...?"

The blond's eyes twinkled. "Because I'm not letting you know that Castiel. Not yet. Because maybe I'm something _new_."

Crowley was staring at the red-haired girl, who was shooting daggers with her eyes back at him.

"And you...you're obviously a Demon...but again, no I.D...same trick?", Crowley mused.

"I am a master of disguise, oh Great-and-Powerful 'King-of-Hell'...", the girl spat out, her voice laced with venom. "And yes, same trick. More fun this way."

Crowley nodded. "Leon, we know, and who might you be, young man?", he asked, looking at Jesse.

Castiel's eyes widened. "No...", he whispered. "It can't be..."

Crowley frowned looking over at him. "You _know_ him?"

Castiel took an involuntary step back, nodding slowly. Crowley looked at him in confusion.

"Come on Castiel, where are you going? Here's the fun part," he protested. "Let's blast the Three Stooges here into oblivion." Crowley's eyes turned bright red, and he made a violent sweeping gesture with his hand. The air shimmered as there was a force of impact that hit the counter with devastating force. The beer bottles and the kitchen windows instantly shattered. The three teens, however, hadn't moved an inch. In fact, the blond teen and the red-haired girl were smiling wickedly at him.

The blond raised his arm, pointing. "Jesse, it's obvious that our friend Castiel remembers you, and has let discretion govern his actions. Why don't you introduce yourself to our good friend Crowley here and illustrate to him why that is such a _good_ idea?"

Jesse's eyes turned dark, then milky white. He raised his arm and black smoke shot out of his hand like a jet. At the last second, Castiel tackled Crowley out of the way as the smoke hit part of the door and the wall behind them. Crowley looked up in shock as he saw that the place where the smoke hit had simply _ceased_ to exist. There was a swirling mass of nothingness there that immediately collapsed up with a shudder, leaving absolutely nothing behind, not even dust.

They scrambled to their feet and ran, Castiel practically dragging Crowley out of the front door back to the car. The sounds of echoing laughter followed them out.

"So, round one to us, eh Leon?", said the blond, walking over to the refrigerator. He reached inside and turned around to look Leon dead in the eyes. Leon saw bright lights dancing there like stars, mixed with a sense of infinite power. And complete, utter insanity.

"Beer?", he asked, smiling at Leon with a twist of his mouth.

* * *

Crowley was shaking. It took him a full five minutes to realize that he was actually in the passenger seat and Castiel was the one driving. He glanced at the speedometer, which was over 175 already. He shook his head and shouted over the roar of the engine.

"Castiel! Ease off, or we'll be in Minnesota before lunch!"

Castiel grimaced and finally nodded and eased off of the gas. The Ferrari slowed. Crowley saw with a shock that the Angel was sweating.

"Mind explaining what the hell happened back there, Castiel?", he asked carefully.

Castiel looked at him, fear written all over his face. After a few minutes, he pulled the car over to the side of the road. Crowley waited patiently. He had never seen Castiel so scared before, so he waited patiently, silently wondering what exactly could make an Angel that afraid.

Finally, Castiel spoke.

"That was Jesse."

Crowley nodded. "Yeah, Castiel, I _got_ that part. Mind explaining how you know him?"

Castiel looked back at him, his face still a mask of fear and shock. "Jesse. He...he turned me into a doll once."

Crowley watched him for a few seconds more, not understanding in the least. Castiel, however, wasn't forthcoming with an explanation. He just sat there staring out of the windshield.

"What!?", he finally exclaimed. Castiel jumped a little bit in his seat.

"Yes...sorry, you wouldn't know. We kept that information hidden from Demons...and for good reason..."

Crowley nodded. "Obviously, Castiel, who would want to advertise being turned into a Ken doll" he said calmly. "Now, if you don't mind explaining to me please, who is 'we' and what exactly is the _pertinent_ 'information'?"

Castiel nodded and let out a deep breath. "Jesse. His full name is Jesse Turner...Sam and Dean and I encountered him and determined that he was a, well, a '_cambion'_."

Crowley's eyes widened and he let out a low whistle. "A cambion. Well, that explains a lot. Half-demon. Devastating power. OK. And you say he turned you into a doll once?" He nodded appreciatively. "That takes a hell of a lot of juice, Castiel...", he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Crowley," Castiel said carefully, staring out of the window again, "Jesse is not just _a_ cambrion, he's _the_ cambrion."

This time it was Crowley's eyes that wide with fear. The blood drained completely out of his features and his face went white.

"The Antichrist..."he whispered slowly. " The _actual_ Antichrist? Bloody hell, Castiel, and he's working for them? Whoever 'them' are?"

Castiel nodded. "Crowley," he said quietly. He turned back toward him. "Crowley, we need help."


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue **

Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair. He lowered his reading glasses and rubbed at his eyes. _This Men of Letters job is giving me chronic migraines_ , he thought. He looked up from his table which was filled with scrolls, books, at least three laptops streaming data and a Kindle. _And I need a secretary,_ he wearily resigned, standing up and stretching.

He glanced once more at the catastrophe that was his work place, scanning the ancient tomes once more and wondering if he had left anything out. Nope. This was truly all of it. Not that he expected anyone had kept a lot of notes during that time.

He had spent the last week and a half going through anything that they had on the Old Ones, after the incident in New Orleans that Charlie had reported to them. They were a bastion of the Darkness that might have been left behind after they had locked it back away. He sighed again. They were so sure they had banished it all. And now, this zombie outbreak in Baltimore...

Dean came into the library with a sandwich in one hand and his smartphone in the other.

"Yeah, no problem, man, stay in touch," he mumbled as he hung up and took a bite. He looked up at Sam and shook his head, chewing.

"Yeah, so, that was Garth," Dean said, swallowing. "Turns out that the regular news has _actually_ got it right this time. Baltimore is shutdown. Zombies everywhere." He illustrated his point by waving his sandwich in the air. Sam winced.

"Total loss?", he asked.

"Yep," Dean replied, taking another bite. "Damn, Sam, you look like hell," he said, raising his eyebrows. "When was the last time you got any sleep?"

Sam shook his head. "We have other things to worry about, Dean. Like the whole damned world coming apart at the seams."

Dean shrugged. "Same story, different day. And are you sure we can't help those two? I mean, I hate being cooped up in the Bunker all the time on the sidelines here, Sammy, I need to get back in the game."

Sam looked at him sternly. "Yeah, because that always goes so well." Dean glared at him and took a violent bite. Sam sat back down heavily and let out a breath. "Look, Dean, you know how this works, Cas and Crowley have to handle this. We were _specifically_ warned not to get in the way this time. Maybe we should, I dunno, listen to the advice from on high for a change?"

"Yeah, why, Sam? No one ever said why we can't do anything. It's all prophecy this and portent that. I am _sick_ of being kept on a leash. We handle crap like this all of the time, Sam, and Cas...he gets stuck with that maniac Crowley. How the hell do we know he's not the one causing these disasters in the first place, man?"

Sam leveled his gaze at him until Dean turned away. "Seriously? Dean, let it go man. You know just as well as I do that Crowley has to play nice this time. There's too much on the line for him."

Dean waved him off, annoyed. "Yeah, yeah, Sammy, I know. I'm just...frustrated is all. I mean, can't we get out of here even for a second? A movie? A bar? _Anything_?"

Sam shook his head. "You know the rules, Dean, we can't even _accidentally_ interfere. The only way we can get out of here..."

Dean's ringtone started playing "Carry On my Wayward Son" and Dean looked at his phone like it had bit him. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked at Sam, who returned the same look.

"Cas?", Dean said tentatively, answering the call. He nodded a few times. "What?! Are you frikkin' serious?" Dean groaned and sat down in one of the big leather chairs, his hand wiping over his brow. "OK, man, Cas, you just hang tight. We're on our way."

He hung up and looked up at Sam, who was watching him expectantly.

"Sammy, Cas needs our help."


End file.
